


Icing

by Offendedfish



Series: Ice Skating AU (I will come up with a better title) [1]
Category: DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hockey AU, Ice Skating AU, Strangers to Lovers, lack of braincells, like an inexcusable amount of fluff, terrible wingmaning, your honor I am an idiot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29384160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Offendedfish/pseuds/Offendedfish
Summary: “Yanno, if you wanted to ogle hockey players, you could have just-” you twirled your hand “-yanno, watch them on TV,”
Relationships: Slade Wilson/Reader
Series: Ice Skating AU (I will come up with a better title) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2158518
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	1. Did he just?

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Break the Ice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28830993) by [withthekeyisking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthekeyisking/pseuds/withthekeyisking). 



> So this is part 1 of the ice skating AU which was inspired by Break the Ice by withthekeyisking. This is, in fact, the ice skating au I was pitching to @birdy-bat-writes. Blame @littleredwing89 for encouraging me (hi wifey). Warning the characters will be nice assholes. 
> 
> Warning: Terrible wingman etiquette and blatant lack consideration for logic

“Yanno, if you wanted to ogle hockey players, you could have just-” you twirled your hand “-yanno, watch them on TV,” you laugh, running lazy circles around a shaking Heli who was glaring at you through her dark hair. You snicker when she raises a trembling middle finger at you. “You probably wouldn’t be freezing your ass off right now, dumbass.”

She glowers. “Well, some of us want to see the glory of the hockey butt in person,” Heli snarls, taking a clumsy step forward instead of the easy glide you showed her earlier. You raise your brow, angling your feet to slow your movement. “Hockey butt?” You repeat dumbly. 

Heli searches your face for any sign of humor only to find a genuinely confused pinch of your brow. “You’re a fucking ice nerd. How could you not know about this mind-breaking scientific phenomena?!” Heli all but screeches to the heavens. You huff. Crossing your arms, you make no move to take out your phone. “Just cus I like ice skating doesn’t mean I know everything to do it.” You start moving again, drifting away from her as you shrug, enjoying the bite of the cold air and the hiss of metal against ice. “Besides, I prefer watching figures.”

“You prefer twinks.”

You flush and not from the cold much to your annoyance. “I- Yanno what, you’re awfully dressed up to just observe. Wait-” you blink and cup your hands over your mouth“-Oh shit, you’re trying to pick them up, aren’t you?” You’re cackling into your glove by the time you face her again. You shake your head and begin to drift away again. “Am not!”She protests weakly, finally managing to reach the railing. “Is it a crime if I just wanna dress up? And what if I manage to pick one up?”

“The odds of you getting one of them is criminally low.”

Heli makes an affronted noise as you draw near. You scratch your nose with your index finger trying to hide your smile. “They probably wouldn’t even notice you if you managed a quad lutz and a triple toe.”

“A what?”

“Exactly.”

“You come here often.”

You snicker. “You gotta step up your game if you wanna pick that buff hockey sugar daddy. That’s like the oldest line in the book,” you say, gliding easily to the railing beside her. She punches your shoulder and you wince, taking a mental note to dodge if she ever throws a right hook your way. 

“I’m asking if you’d known any of them, you jerk!”

You arch a brow. “They don’t interact with the public much. ‘Sides if I did, why would I introduce you?”

“Because that would be such an amazing thing to do?”

“No.”

“(Y/n), look at them!”

You sweep your eyes over the rink, over the men gliding over the ice. Your eyes catch on broad forms. They looked powerful, built to weather any blow. You were at once jealous and awed. You kind of understood Heli. Just a bit. 

You watch as two large men practice a sweeping check. The other man crashes hard. You wince and figure it was time to get off the ice. You lightly push at Heli but she’s standing still and unmovable. You make a frustrated noise as the bewildering words fall from her lips. “Look at that hockey butt.” One of your brows chases your hairline as you turn to follow her gaze. 

Standing nearly at seven feet, a broad man with white hair is facing away from you barking orders at the raucous crowd of men. His voice is booming and echoing in the quiet of the rink. You try not to snort when you turn to Heli again, finding her practically drooling. “Stop staring at his ass. It’s rude, you troglodyte,” you scold halfheartedly. 

“Oh come on, you have eyes too!”

“Yes, I do,” you concede, said eyes flicking briefly to the man’s ass despite your best efforts, ”but the dude looks like he’s an entire drinking age human older than you.”

Heli rolls her eyes at you. “Only you would be that hypocritical,” she says, shoving you. You cringe. You almost fall but the reaction is more to do with how poorly you hid your interest. You breathe a sigh of relief when you catch yourself before you fall on your ass. 

“You’ve been eyeing him too!”

“The man is built like a brick house. He’s kind of hard to miss, Hel.” It was a weak defense so you’re thankful that Heli was barely paying attention to you. You squint at him trying to remember his name. “Slade Wilson, right?” you ask with all the confidence of a kid who just put on skates for the first time. Heli sighs dreamily instead of irritably. “It would be great if I could get his number.”

You two stand there quietly watching them practice. You tap your skate against the ice, not out of impatience but more from a contained sprawl of energy. You’re always dumbfounded at how fast they move compared to their bulk. You’re used to the lithe grace of figure skaters but the raw strength and speed they display are breathtaking in an entirely new way. You’d never really considered how much skill and precision the sport took. Sure, it didn’t require as much body awareness as figures but you can see the practiced movement, the muscle memory, and hours of practice that went into each maneuver. With Slade especially. 

“Hey, if I offer you 50, would you get me his number?” You narrow your eyes at her. You’re pretty sure she’s joking but there’s such an obvious glint of cautious hope in her eyes that you can’t help the grin spreading across your face. You hold out a hand. Heli glares at your open palm then up to your face. “Get the number first.”

“I need an advance,” you say, tilting your chin up. 

“What are you? A contract killer?”

“Why is that the first thing you think off?”

“Are you gonna do it or not?”

You shrug and push off the wall. To your absolute delight, Heli looks horrified as you leisurely make your way to the large man. You shove your hands in your pockets, throwing her cocky grin over your shoulder. You move towards him with the easy grace of someone who’s lived their life on the ice. 

The man looks down at you and you feel dwarfed under the scrutiny but you shrug it off with the ease of someone who’s never met self-preservation. He crosses his large arms over his barrelled chest. Your mind stalls for a bit, half a millisecond, upon realizing that his arm is somehow longer than your torso and scarily enough nearly as thick. “Can I help you?” He asks smoothly. There’s an undercurrent of a southern accent in the drawl of his words. It throws you for a bit of a loop which shockingly goes to your advantage. 

Throwing your thumb over your shoulder, you say “the fucker is giving me 50 to get your number.” Your bluntness catches him off guard as much as it does you. You’re gonna pretend your mind unconsciously figured out that he preferred straight forward people. Arching his brow and breaking his stoic demeanor, he gives you an amused quirk to his lip. “You are aware our merch costs way more than fifty bucks.”

You didn’t. You shrug. “She got both a friend and dumbass discount rolled into one,” you say, cocking your head, wry smile seemingly permanent. This earns you a noise that sounds like a snort and you figure you should take the opening. 

“So, what do you say?”

“No.”

You reel back, the tiniest bit stunned. You didn’t exactly expect this to work but- “I’ll split with you,” you offer. Fifty wasn’t much but Heli’s reaction was on the line. 

He hums, looking you over. You try to read him but don’t glean anything useful. You can tell he’s not about to deck you and that he is extremely amused by the situation but beyond that nothing. You shove your hands into your pockets but make sure not to slump or shrink. You would normally shrink at someone this attractive staring at you but something about the ambiance of the ice rink keeps you solid. 

“Give me 40 and your number,” he says finally. 

Your brows disappear into your hair, but come back just as quickly. “We split 70-30 and you get my number.” You think you hear Heli’s palm slap against her forehead. Or maybe, it’s just the puck getting slapped by a stick. Either way, you’re sure you’ve made a miscalculation of your priorities but damn it, you weren’t going to be fleeced by a guy who earns millions a year. 

“Are you really haggling?”

“It’s a valuable life skill,” you say evenly despite finally noticing the dozens of eyes on you.

“You’re not gonna let go of this, are you kid?” He chuckles and suddenly the intimidation ebbs away from his features. The knot in your chest unwinds, so you push your luck. 

“Sadly, you’re not that lucky.”

He snorts and your face almost breaks into a smile. “65-35.”

“No. 70-30.”

Slade cocks his head to the side, the corners of his lips turning up to smirk. “The way I see it, sugar, I’m the one with the bigger bargaining chip here.” The way he purrs the pet name brings out the huskiness in his voice. It sends your mind spiraling and your cheeks flushing. You lose your ability to speak for a moment. You scratch your nose and quirk your mouth in thought. You don’t take too long to mull over your options before speaking again. “Fine, 65-35 plus my number but,” his brow arches, ”I need a guarantee that it’s real.” You didn’t really but you’re stubborn and you’ve come this far. 

Slade lets out a huff, holding out his hand. “Phone.” 

You blink, quietly stupefied. “Oh- Uh, sure,” you stammer, handing him your phone. He types the number quickly and presses the call button. When he carelessly tosses your phone, you fumble as it bounces between your hands before settling. You swear under your breath. 

You scowl at him, holding his eyes with contempt. The phone rings for a bit and then you’re sent to voicemail. You shut it off immediately after you hear the first notes of his husky drawl. It makes your skin feel warm even in the cool bite of the rink air. You shake it off bleating a ‘thanks ’ before pivoting around. 

You’re dazed and light-headed as you skate back. Almost light enough to ignore the hoots and hollers coming from Slade’s team. Distantly, you hear someone holler a “great job, sweetheart,” and another “Way ta go, you cradle snatcher.” 

You and Heli stare at each other, equal parts dumbfounded and amazed. 

“Did you just?”

You hold out your hand, feeling a little numb. 

Did you just get hit on by a hockey player?

Puckwit: Sweetheart, since you only gave me 20% of my cut, I think you owe me 

You roll your eyes. Because, of course, Heli couldn’t put her money where her big mouth is, so you didn’t exactly have the money to pay Slade. Hell, he would have gotten pocket lint if you didn’t fork up your own cash. 

You: Relax, you fucking loan shark, I‘ll get your money

You ruffle your hair in frustration as you type. You can feel a smile tug at your lip. You weren’t really expecting any contact after the incident but you were pleasantly surprised when he texted you out of the blue. The texts were sporadic. You’re not surprised given his schedule. It was nothing hot or heavy. You two were just fucking around for the most part. Sure, there was flirting from both sides (mostly from him) but most of it was just an exchange of witty banter that has you biting your lip to hold back a snicker. 

Puckwit: C’mon, candy 

You: Candy? You sound like a 50s playbook

“Has (y/n) ever been this obsessed with her phone?”

“No, not since her favorite fanfic author stopped posting back in hs.”

“Did (y/n) get a sugar daddy?”

You blink and flush. “What? NO!”

Emi cackles. “Holy shit! You did, didn’t you?!”

You sputter out some incoherent halfhearted defense. Why are you defending yourself? You’ve done nothing wrong. 

“She definitely did!” Andy cackles, plucking the phone from your hands. Your heart stops then starts when you remember that there was no way for them to know who this is. Thank fuck, you’re lazy as shit. 

“Who is it?”

“It’s just some asshole who thinks I owe him money,” you snap, snatching at your phone. 

“You’re smiling an awful awful lot for someone getting pestered by the IRS,” Andy says, passing it to Heli who sticks her tongue out as she thumbs through the messages. 

“He isn’t from the IRS. Even I’m not stupid enough to fuck with the IRS.”

“Yes, you are!” Emi protests, keeping you from batting at Heli. 

“Wait! Are you his Splenda guardian?!” Heli gasps. This unsurprisingly makes Andy cackle and almost fall out of his seat. 

He makes 25 times what you make. The thought makes you scrunch your nose up. He’s definitely pestering you for the money just to fuck with you. “In this economy? Nope.”

“Face it, (y/n) is just into funny assholes. You remember-”

Heli gasps, high and loud. Her face looks like a caricature of a fish. “You’re texting buddies with THE Slade Wilson,” she cries, making you shrink, “YOU BITCH.”

Emi and Andy exchange confused looks. “Who?” You take that moment to snag your phone out of a seething Heli’s hands. You’re considering bolting when Emi and Andy both put hands on your shoulders preventing any escape. 

“Who?” Andy repeats with a raised brow. This is the moment you find religion as you pray to whatever god is up there to end you. Heli slams her open palm on the table. You’re fully bracing yourself for a dissertation (including citations) instead you get:

“He’s just the most banagable silver fox in the NHL.”

You hold your breath a moment waiting for Zeus or someone to strike you down. Laughter washes over your table. You groan, hand running down your face. 

“Hel, you make horny teenagers sound like nuns,” Andy says between gasps of laughter. 

“I can be horny in my late 20s! Look at (y/n).”

“Please don’t,” you wheeze trying to fuse with the table.

“YOU BITCH, how did you get a text back?!” 

“I don’t know,” you say, holding your phone up like a shield, “what did you text him?”

They, thankfully, take the bait and turn their attention to Heli who is crossing her arms, seething. 

“I told him that I’m sorry about my dumbass friend.”

A wry smile breaks out on your face. “Did you seriously throw me under the bus?”

“It was for a good cause.”

“Yeah. His dick.” Andy cackles. “Speaking of which, hey Hel, did you see a dick pic?” 

“No!” Heli screeches looking disappointed. 

“You people are the worst best friends.”

“Sorry, you’re the one who picked.”

“You do know I have other options, right?”

“Pfffft, as if!”

“Shut up, you oxygenated gremlin.”

“What does that even mean?!”

“C’mon (y/n), you gotta be a little curious about what he’s packing!” Heli croons. 

“No.” You lie flatly. You have thought about it in a blurry sort of theoretical way. Sure, the guy was smoking hot but you discipline and pushed it to the back of your mind. (Another lie, you weren’t pure enough to resist entertaining some spicier imagery.) Your body flushes, thinking of the poorly hidden mass of muscle beneath the long-sleeved hockey jersey. You press your face against the cool surface of the table. You fold your arms over your head bracing for the inevitable heckling. 

You seriously need to sort this out before it gets out of hand. 

Heli looks like she’s gonna kill you. 

You’re hoping she does. 

You’re slumped over the railing on your tiptoes, hands raised to cup your mouth. It really isn’t enough to hide the sheer awe on your face. You suck in a breath through your teeth as another man hits the wall courtesy of your favorite loan shark. Clearly, none of that bulk is just for show. That thought stirs something vague in your chest. It’s a twinge like a spark up your spine. It’s not unpleasant. You wouldn’t say so at least. You just don’t know what to call it. 

You watch Slade. He looks stoic, fully concentrated on his movement. It’s jarring compared to the mental image of him smirking while he texts you. It’s a little jarring. 

The sound of the puck from one stick to another pulls your mind back down from the clouds. You realize that it’s probably not the best idea to watch hockey practice this close. With there being a high chance of you getting bowled over by 200-pound men skating at alarming speeds but you find yourself unable to peel away, mesmerized by their fluency on the ice. It’s not specifically Slade, although he definitely stands out, but the whole of the team. It’s certainly different from the fine-tuned muscle control of figures but it’s not what you thought it was. You make a mental note to watch more hockey when you get the chance. 

You hook your leg over the other, the toe of your boot-tapping against the heel of the other. You hum absently as you watch them pass the puck around at speeds you’re sure would hurt. You’re too deep in thought to notice the two players approaching you until they crowd your view of the rink. 

“You lost, princess?” A man above you purrs. Your vision snags on a helmet with a black skull mask and you want to jump out of your skin. 

You blink, brain catching up with the words. “Oh yeah. I- No, I’m good,” you hedge awkwardly, not knowing how to tell them that you owe their buddy money. Are they gonna kick you out? You are encroaching on their practice. 

“Dipshit, that’s the girl who hit on Wilson the other week,” A smaller guy says flanking your right side. Your mouth quirks. You recognize him from somewhere. He’s slimmer than the others and his movements are much more graceful. His name is on the tip of your tongue. 

“Fuck off, Todd, I’m just trying to make conversation,” the other man says leering at you. You swallow thickly, a mild discomfort makes you vaguely aware of your thermal shirt and leggings are hugging your curves. You bite your cheek. You think after figures you’d be used to people leering at you. You do your best to suck in a quiet breath as both continue to hassle you with questions that you answer vaguely. It’s not for any reason, more out of habit really. 

“Todd, Sionis, get back in line.”

“Wilson, we’re just having a chat with our little guest,” Sionis says wrapping an arm around your shoulders pinning you against his side. The noise you make is tiny and a bit helpless and you’re kicking yourself. 

Slade continues to glare at the man but he doesn’t take his arm off of you. “What? Are you gonna fine me?” Sionis challenges. 

The stoic expression doesn’t disappear from Slade’s face. “Don’t fucking test me, Sionis, I’ll fine you into the next fucking century if you don’t get your ass back to training,“ comes the sharp, non-negotiable response. 

You let out a relieved breath when the other two push of the wall with a grumble. Todd throws you a wink over his shoulder and you recognize him from figures. Your head is spinning again. What was a world-class figure skater doing on a hockey team? 

“You ok there, kid?”

“Yeah, I’m fine… Thanks,” you say, skittish,”for stepping in, I mean.” 

“I’m the fine master for this team. It’s my job to keep them in line,” he says, blandly. 

“Uhuh, so you were just doing your job?”

“Mhmm.”

You give him a crooked smile. “You’re so full of crap, Slade.”

Slade side-eyes you. “I know you’re not a hockey fan-”

“I could be,” you shrug. 

He rolls his eyes. “Tell me about the name of the positions and what they do.” Your mouth wires shut. He nods, vindicated before continuing.``As I was saying, why are you here, Candy?”

You scrunch your nose. “You know full fucking well that isn’t my name. Am I gonna have to remind you every time?” 

“Depends.”

Your brow rises. ”On what?”

Slade smirks. “On whether or not you keep blushing.”

You flush and roll your eyes. “You’re categorically the worst human being I have ever met and I work in customer service.”

“Mhmm,” he hums, his body relaxing a fraction. The smirk on his face softens but the look in his eyes is still teasing. 

“You’re not even gonna bother to sound ashamed, are you?”

His lip twitches. “You really know me so well, sugar.”

You scoff, reaching into your pocket. You shove a thick wad of ones into his broad chest. 

“Should I ask why it’s all in ones?”

“Strip club,” you deadpan. His steel-blue eyes gleam and you can see the innuendo forming on his lips when you push off the wall. You’re already flustered as you pivot away. “See you later, Sharky,” you say over your shoulder. 

“See you next practice, sweetheart.”

And you do.

It becomes a semi-regular thing. 

You come in early, earlier than the public is allowed to be, to do maintenance checks on the building and to watch them practice. Most days you just find a spot to hunker down and watch them quietly then leave before they notice. 

But you had to admit the best days were when they caught you as practice ended. You’d shoot the shit with them, always standing close to Slade or rather he always stood close to you. Your quick wit and brash words fit right into the banter. 

“Hey princess, do you want a signed jersey? I’ll give you one for a kiss,” Roman offers, tracing your jaw. You step back, falling behind Jason and Slade. 

Slade arches a brow at him crossing his arms which Roman answers with a shrug. "Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he says, still smirking at you. You snort. The flirting was commonplace at this point. As it turns out, his team likes fucking with Slade almost as much as you do. Almost everyone on the team flirts with you just to get a rise out of Slade. You play along just for the shits and giggles. 

A large hand brackets your hip and you’re pressed against Slade’s side. His body heat radiating off of him like his temper. You lean into it, a smarmy grin tugging at your lips. 

“How much is it worth, Sionis?” You croon. The hand on your hip tightens. You hear Jason snickers to your left, seemingly catching on to your game. 

“Princess, we both know mine would sell more,” Jason purrs with a wink. 

You bat half-lidded eyes at Jason. “Would it now?”

For a moment, you feel weightless and the world’s a wheel of colors and then you stop with a dull pressure on your torso and the back of your thighs. Half of the team is staring at you dumbly while the other half is biting back snickers. Jason’s cheeks are red from the exertion. 

You look down to where your arms are dangling and you see an easily recognizable ass. 

Jason, the newest addition to your terrible best friends club, decides to work on his David Attenborough impersonation at this inopportune moment. “As you can see, we have the primitive caveman has captured a mate and is now ensuring that his rival cavemen from capturing her interest.” You raise your middle finger at Jason who just gives you the wingman thumbs up. “Go get ‘em, tiger!” He hoots and you start plotting your revenge. 

“Slade Wilson, put me down. My legs work just fine thanks,” you hiss, pounding your fists into his back. Unlike most times, Slade doesn’t bother pretending that it even hurt. Stupid hockey player physique. 

“Would you stop squirming?” It’s less a question and more of a poor attempt to politely demand. “If you’re worried about is falling over, relax, you weigh like a sack of potatoes,” he says, hand squeezing the back of your thighs. You yelp, clutching at his shirt. His hand is far too close to your ass. You maneuver your body the best you can to glare at him and you’re pretty sure he’s grinning to himself. “I’ll stop squirming if you stop groping me.”

His eyes flick to you and he pretends to think for a moment. “Well, I can’t promise you that,” he says giving your thigh another light squeeze. 

“Brute,” you scoff. He smacks your ass playfully and makes odd caveman noises. You flush a smile, tugging at your lips. “Won’t your team miss you?”

Slade looks over his other shoulder. “They’re grown men. They can go without a babysitter for five minutes.” As if to disprove his point, Waylon starts giving Crane a noogie, and Jason and Sionis start a fight. Slade sighs and you let out a loud snort.


	2. Honey, no.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Accidental child acquisition and insecurities of dating as a single parent

Today was one of those days when the team had off. You're a little disappointed but you've got your little gremlins to look forward to. 

You're tying your laces when you're bombarded by the cacophonous laughter of children. You beam at them as they crowd you, all babbling and giggling. The first to throw herself at you is a little 6-year-old girl named Rose. Well… Technically, the first kid that was supposed to get to you was a kid named Tim but thanks to a solid check from Rose, Tim went down easily. The poor boy didn’t seem to be injured but he looked like he was gonna cry. 

You scoop them both up, threading your fingers through Tim’s dark hair and gently pressing him into your shoulder. You nudge Rose with your forearm, urging her to look at you. Her scowl turns from Tim to you, little arms crossed over her chest. 

“Rose...”

“What?!”

“You shouldn’t hit people.”

“Why not?! Dad and Grant do it all the time!”

Thanks to both of your arms being occupied you resist the urge to pinch your nose. You need a talk with Rose’s parents at some point. How can someone this small be this angry?

“What if Tim got hurt?” you ask softly, voice coaxing, “Rose, if Tim got hurt he wouldn’t be allowed to skate today and he'd have to go home without going into the rink. Do you want that?” The frown on Rose’s face shifts from horror to guilt to shame. 

She turns to Tim who is sniffling into your jacket. “Sorry Tim...” Rose says, her eyes downcast. Tim looks up shyly, face and body still pressed to your side. “It’s ok...” He whispers. You nudge him with your shoulder. “You sure sweetie?” You ask, rubbing circles into Tim’s scalp. Tim nods and Rose breathes a sigh of relief. You thread your fingers through Rose’s hair and she leans into your touch, preening at the attention. You smile softly at both of them. 

You feel a tug at your sleeve. You turn to see Cass and a smile spreads across your face. Cass smiles back. You follow her finger and saw the clock. You hum before gently jostling the two children in your lap. “C’mon scouts, we need to get your skate and do some warm-ups.”

With a shrill cry, Rose heads towards her guardian. You’re hoping it’s Joey today lest you get into another row with Grant. You nudge Tim and he hesitantly climbs off your lap to go to a duffle bag. You frown to find no one there to watch Tim. Of course, parents could leave kids here under your supervision but at Tim’s age it was inadvisable but then again this wasn’t the first time the Drakes have left Tim to your care. You follow him to the duffle. You help Tim with his laces. He protests that he can do it on his own. You dismiss his protest by telling him that his skates would only activate if an adult fiddles with them. Sure, Tim was a smart kid but he was also just a kid. 

You scan the crowd making sure everyone was doing their stretches when you happen upon Rose gleefully screeching her guardian’s ear off. You blink, mind coming to a skittering halt. Kneeling in front of Rose is all 6 foot 5 inches of Slade Wilson. You tap your skate unconsciously against the floor as you watch Slade help Rose tie up her shoelaces. There was something incredibly heartwarming about the sight. 

This explains so much. 

The kid used to body check one kid every lesson in and off the ice. The only one who could rival her in ferocity is Cass and you’ve had to break them up several times. Both of them act like the biggest bitches but they’re your smallest students.

“Ms.. l/n,” Rose cheers as she makes wobbly steps towards you, her blue eyes shining with excitement. You huff seeing the resemblance between the two as Slade trails after her, his own skates on his shoulder. It occurs to you that this is the first time you’ve seen him out of hockey gear. You snicker at how the hoodie he’s wearing looks almost sprayed on. You will say you can’t complain much about that or his pants. 

You tear your gaze away from Slade, crouching down to Rose’s level. ”You ready?” you ask. She gives you a firm nod but she doubles back and casting her eyes down. Your lip twitches knowing what’s coming. Rose looks up at you wide-eyed and innocent. “Will you hold my hand while I go in?” 

You smile indulgently. You know full well that Rose isn’t nervous on the ice. It’s practically her element but everytime you start a lesson she asks and since you’re an absolute sucker for the puppy dog face she pulls, you always end up giving in. You hold out your hand to her and to Tim who mutters a very quiet ‘thank you’. 

“Pop! Pop! This is Ms.. (l/n)!” Rose exclaims as she steps on the ice. You feel Slade’s eyes looking down at you intently. You can already guess where he’s looking. 

“So you’re the famous Ms..l/n,” Slade drawls as you lead Rose and Tim to the railings. Rose turns to gape at her father and you can already feel the dread coiling up in your stomach. “You guys know each other?!” Rose says, face alight with amazement. You suppose from her perspective this was like the biggest crossover of her life and you guessed the awestruck look was warranted. 

Slade looks at you before turning to Rose. “Oh, we do.” You wait for him to elaborate, to fill in the blanks, but he seems content to leave that to you. Rose is looking up at you and so is Tim. You resist the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose if only for the fact that your hands are occupied. You hold a sigh in the back of your throat and let your shoulders droop a fraction. Because, yeah. How exactly are you supposed to explain to a six-year-old that you’re kind of flirting with her dad but you’ve gone on exactly zero dates? What do you even call this? 

“Do you play hockey?!” This question draws out a cough that suspiciously sounds like a laugh from Slade. You yourself can feel your mouth twitch. “I just watch your dad and his team practice. Sometimes.”

Rose looks a little disappointed but it doesn’t detract from the sheer delight on her face. “Isn’t my dad the coolest?” Rose chirps. You grimace knowing you only have two choices in this situation:

  1. Agree and have to suffer through Slade being smug for however long he decides to stay. 
  2. Disagree and risk one of two things: Rose crying or Rose becoming feral. 



Neither option is appealing but the prospect of having to deal with a feral child seems marginally worse than dealing with a smug grown man. 

“He definitely is,” you say through gritted teeth which Rose doesn’t seem to notice. You sigh in relief but take it back immediately when you look over your shoulder to see Slade giving you a crooked smile. You scowl at him which just makes it worse. 

You give Tim and Rose a light push to urge them to skate with the other kids for a bit. You usually give the kids a few minutes to skate around before starting your lessons. You’ve found it’s the best way for them to acclimate to the ice and the best way to burn off some excess energy. 

“I didn’t know you taught ice skating.”

“You also don’t know my social security number. What’s your point?” you say with a smirk. Your brow arches when you’re greeted with one of those complicated expressions he makes when he’s trying to hide that he’s mulling over something. Jason has happily tried to disprove its existence. You pivot to face him, head cocked in question. He doesn’t answer, blue eyes searching your features for something.

“I wasn’t the one who taught Rose to backflip,” you try. That was Dickiebird’s fault but you weren’t gonna rat him out. He arches a brow at you. “Does she do it on ice?” He asks, sounding a bit concerned. Reasonable considering the possible neck injury as you’ve pointed out to Dick. You shrug. “Not that I’ve caught her.” 

You’re both quiet for what feels like an eternity. Your mind is scrambling for words to fill the dead air hanging between you. You would think that the bite of metal against ice would be enough but no. You wonder if you've done something wrong. 

“Me having a kid doesn’t bother you?” he says finally and from the careful way he says it, you can’t tell if it’s a question or a statement. You roll your shoulders and push off the wall, wheeling far enough away so you can face him without having to crane your neck too much. 

The fact that he had a kid didn’t really bother you. You would have guessed as much. “I’m frankly more curious about how a troglodyte like you managed to make a kid that cute.” It’s an honest answer but it’s also true that the more you look at Rose the more you see Slade in her. He laughs and relief rolls over his form. 

“I’m quite adorable.”

“Yeah and I have a really really good chance at becoming the Gotham Rogues’ newest star forward. Waylon can move the fuck over,” you laugh and Slade rolls his eyes, lips quirking. You twirl around and raise your arm in a dramatic gesture. “Or I could be the new-” You feel a hard shove. You’re falling backward. You flail your limbs trying to right yourself. You manage to fumble into what feels like a brick wall. Large hands bracket your hips as the brick wall pulls you to his chest. Managing not to fall, you still get the air knocked out of your lungs all the same.

You cling to him a little dazed. You flick your gaze towards where Slade is glaring. Standing there is a kid, still baby-faced and pimpled, looking like he’s about to shit himself as Slade radiates murder or at least that’s probably what the kid’s interpreting. You squirrel away the urge to bark out a laugh lest the kid actually pisses himself. 

Squeezing his forearm, you giggled trying to sway his gaze from the kid who was looking paler by the minute. You don’t feel bad for the kid per se, after all he would have knocked you over possibly causing a concussion. That would have been really unpleasant. “Yanno, I had a working theory that this thing was just sprayed on,” you say, twisting to smile up at Slade. He leans, chin on the crown of your head. “I’m just well proportioned,” he deadpans, grinning into your hair. The tips of your ears warm as you try and bat away your thoughts. Sometimes you wish that you too could radiate murder. 

You twist to face him but the words die in your throat. How exactly do you express ‘Stop making me thirst over you while I’m in public. It’s becoming a problem’ without embarrassing yourself? You open your mouth hoping that your mind sporadically comes up with something if you force it. “I-”

“EW THEY’RE GOING TO KISS!” cry several little voices. You pinch the bridge of your nose and thump your forehead against his chest. Slade’s chest vibrates with his chuckles. Punching his chest, you push away from him. 

Your brows pinch, seeing the looks on the kids' faces. They aren’t going to shut up about this for at least two weeks. Even longer if something like this happens again. 

The lesson goes well which just means no one crashes into a wall. You’ve broken up about at least two fights and one full-on brawl. Take a wild guess who started it. 

Wrong.

It was Tim. You admire the kids' spunk. You really do but Riley, one of the older kids in your class, was twice his size. You were legitimately caught between laughing and crying. There is something incredibly fascinating about watching the kid look angry. Tim was usually... well, Tim. Quiet kid. Kept to himself or at least out of trouble. 

“Tim,” you scold lightly as you put ice on his hand. He didn’t deck the other kid but he did manage to fall on the ice and hit his knuckle. You called Tim’s parents after managing to calm Mrs. Josten which was a feat considering this was the poor woman’s only kid and she was fiercely protective. Mrs. Drake had told you she would be there in 5 minutes and it’s been 30 minutes. Sure, traffic sucked but… from past experience with the Drakes, you knew you were gonna be here for another hour. 

Looking up from your watch, you sigh. So much for making it to the next bus for that grocery run. “I’m sorry,” Tim says for what was probably the fifth time. You nudge him and he looks up at you looking like he just accidentally kicked a puppy. “Tim… Tell me what happened.”

Tim looks at you then his gloves then his duffle bag then back at you. “I thought mom and dad would get here faster if I cause trouble,” he admits and your heart sinks. You blow out an almost inaudible breath. You guessed as much. “I’m sorry,” he says again. He has probably punctuated every sentence with an apology since the fight. You pull him close leaning him against your shoulder to murmur comforting words.

“Hey, Tim!” You and Tim jump out of your skins from the volume of Rose’s greeting. She tilts her head and scrunches her little face. “Why are you still here?” She asks. When Tim doesn’t answer you do. “His parents are just a little late.” Slade raises a brow at you and you’re not sure you want to keep going with your explanation especially while Tim is pressed to your side sniffling. 

“Why don’t we all skate around for a bit while we wait for Tim’s parents?”

“Ok!”

“Ok...”

Rose all but drags Tim onto the ice. 

“So, does this happen often?”

“Sadly.”

“Ah.”

Thankfully, the conversation ends there. Because, honestly, you had no good answers for him. 

As predicted, it did take more than an hour for anyone to come to pick up Tim and you’re not very surprised when it’s Mrs. Mac. You’re familiar enough with her that you don’t have to ask for an ID. Tim waves at you with a sad smile and god, you were going to kick the Drakes one of these days. Maybe with your skates on. 

You sigh and check your phone for the bus schedule. “Need a ride?” Slade asks and unfortunately, you don’t miss the innuendo. You weigh it before admitting “Yeah… I kind of missed the bus that takes the direct root to the grocery store I shop at.”

“We can take you!” Rose chirps. 

“Rose has declared it,” Slade says with a roll of his shoulders.

You can’t say you’re surprised that he has a nice car. You’ve seen the one he drives when he comes in for practice. You are the tiniest bit amused that he does in fact own an SUV then again not many sports cars are accommodating to booster seats. 

The drive was smooth and relatively peaceful with Rose babbling about hockey and dinosaurs. After a while of teaching kids, you learn that most kids have a dinosaur phase. You’re always amused to find parents who are absolutely confused by a little girl babbling about dinosaurs. Slade looks weary of the subject probably having heard the kid talk about it all weak. You can’t say you feel bad for him.

“Thanks again,” you say unbuckling your seat. Your fumbling for your things when you hear Slade unbuckle his own seatbelt. You raise your brow at him. “You’re not expecting us to wait in the car while you shop, are you, sugar?”

"I- You don't have to wait for me. I mean you and Rose are probably tired and…" 

And he's already unbuckling Rose and rousing her from her sleep. "I'm not exactly about to let you just walk home."

"Why not?"You ask, trying to keep the sentimentality out of your voice. You really are touched. "My apartment is just a few blocks from here." It's a weak defense but you really didn't want to bother them. Plus, you've done this before and you're still in one piece. It was barely even dusk and it’s not like someone will mug you in what was practically broad daylight in Gotham. 

Slade looks at you incredulously. "(Y/n), I don’t doubt the black belt you probably have," you snort, "but 1) Rose would kill me if I let you do that 2) good opportunity to see your apartment." 

"I-" 

"Besides, who'll help you carry the bags?" Slade says the blasé tone wasn't thick enough to hide the mirth in his voice. 

You scoff, half-heartedly rolling your eyes. "Look, I may not be a behemoth like you but I'm certainly not a limp noodle." 

"Ms.. Y/n pleeeeeeeeaaaaaseee," Rose yawns. She's adorable as she attempts to wrap her small arms around her father. 

And the next thing you know is that you're slotting Rose into the seat on a shopping cart. She sleeps through most of the grocery run leaving you and Slade to flirt and fuck around. 

However, the kid springs to life as soon as you pass the bakery section of the grocery store. 

"Daaaaaaad, can I please get some cookies? Or a cake?! Pleeeeeaaaase!" 

Slade gives her a weary look like he's 3 seconds away from giving in. You wrinkle your nose at the packaged cookies. 

"I could probably make something better," you mutter idly, looking at the ingredients.

"That so, sugar?" Comes Slade's voice behind you, lips brushing against your ear. You shiver. He wraps his arm around your waist. The bristle of Slade’s beard against your neck making you very open to ideas. 

"Ms.. (L/n), will you really bake us cookies?" 

You look down at Rose who's looking at you wide-eyed and bushy-tailed and you know you're doomed.

You sigh and lead them on a scavenger hunt for ingredients. 

  
  


"Y'know, me and that kid are a package deal right?" 

You look up from the box of baking soda you've been squinting at. "You mean I have to keep you too?" You say smiling. 

"Here I thought I was the main attraction." 

You tilt your head as you watch Rose grab armfuls of ingredients. "Dunno, she's pretty darned cute." 

"You think so huh?" He asks wrapping his arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder. 

"Probably gets it from you, doesn't she?" 

"You think I'm adorable, sugar?"Slade says as he kisses the spot behind your ear. 

You snort, scratching your nose. You look up at him. "You know I'm not going anywhere right?" He doesn't answer and you turn around to face him. "Unless Rose spontaneously decides she hates my guts, I'm here to stay." 

"I highly doubt that," he chuckles. Standing on your tiptoes, you pull him down with your arms around his neck. You nudge your nose against his, brushing your lips against his. Lips barely touching in an almost kiss. "Sorry, sharky, you chose the wrong card to try and get rid of me with." 

"Daaaaad, stop eating Ms. L/n's face!" Rose screeches.

Just to be contrary, Slade presses his lips firmly against yours. You hear bags drop to the ground and you both laugh into each other’s lips as Rose starts pounding her tiny fists against her dad’s leg. You break away from the kiss and scoop her up. Rose’s face is red from anger. You laugh, brushing stray strands out of her face. “See sweetie, I’m ok. I’m ok.”

Rose wraps her arms around you, sticking her tongue at her dad. Threading your freehand through her hair, you draw slow circles into Rose’s scalp until you could feel her relax. Rose nuzzles her face into yours and you knew you’d be carrying her for the rest of your trip through the grocery store. 

You look over your shoulder to Slade who is smiling at you warmly and you feel your heart stutter at the sight. You snap your head forward feeling the tips of your ears burn. You smile against Rose’s hair. You don’t know if there’s a version of you that would have it any other way. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading


End file.
